Between Clouds
by LadySchadenfreude
Summary: Or, why Vaan should not pick flowers.  When Vaan goes missing, international politics be damned; Balthier, Fran, and Penelo are the only ones who can save him. Funny. The boy who helped save two empires and a kingdom might have expected better.
1. A Damsel in Distress

Disclaimer: Square Enix owns Final Fantasy XII, not me. I'm just a lowly fan.

Content/Warnings: Mild sexuality in later chapters, minor swearing throughout. This fic does _not_ follow Revenant Wings, and it is set approximately a year after the events of the game.

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><p>The streets of Rabanastre are as dusty as Balthier remembers them, much to his distaste. He assumes that Fran must recall them likewise; after all, she nods absently in response to his constant comments (yes, comments, because he is not so low as to complain) on them.<p>

More than that, they're oppressively hot, a dry heat like walking through a kiln. Balthier _comments_ on that several times as well, earning distracted shrugs.

Still, it's not like he minds being back here. Rabanastre fairly glitters in the too-bright sun. She is the capital of the kingdom, and it shows. The colorful flagstones and the intricacies of the elegant, swooping architecture blend into a dizzying impression.

He may not fancy himself an artist, but Balthier has the taste to know what deserves appreciation.

Balthier and Fran, however, are here for more than that. And luckily, their destination (the Sandsea, actually,) isn't too far, because Fran is looking quite tired of Balthier's fourth rendition of, 'precisely why the middle of a desert is a foolish location for a city.'

He is, however, mercifully silenced when they are waylaid in one of Rabanastre's narrower streets.

The distraction comes in the form of a blonde... someone that crosses the street in a blur and a clatter of boots on stone before hurling herself into Balthier's arms.

All things considered, he thinks as he catches the girl (more from reflex than anything else), if he still gets reactions like this, he's _not_ losing his touch, no matter what Jules always insisted.

The young woman latches onto his shirt, shaking like she just might break into pieces. The street is crowded, and heads turn in their direction. He's accustomed to it; he ignores them.

Fran is instantly on the alert, craning to see over the heads of the crowd.

Balthier doesn't look up to see if she's found some kind of threat (it's _Fran_, it's not like she can't handle it herself), because he's rather occupied. As soon as he looks down and catches sight of those two blonde braids, he knows.

He gently cups the girl's chin in one hand, guiding her to look up at him. Recognition, all right. Her eyes are rimmed in red now, but they're still the same deep brown he remembers.

"Hello, Penelo."

She mumbles his name before dissolving into tears, and he lets her bury his head into his shoulder. He doesn't mind as much as he would have expected.

But then, if he _didn't_ want crying damsels flinging themselves into his arms, he might have chosen a less romanticized occupation. As it is, he is quite accustomed to getting tearstains out of his shirt, so he just lets her sob unrestrainedly for a few moments.

Fran is off the alert now, apparently satisfied that Penelo is the only surprise waiting for them in the streets. They've apparently become something less of a spectacle, too: the populace of Rabanastre has stopped staring, and begin to move off, back to getting heat stroke, or whatever else it is they do for fun around here.

Penelo is still shaking and crying, and it's less awkward than Balthier would have thought to gently stroke her hair while she does.

Once Fran has deemed that Balthier's shirt has taken enough abuse, however, she puts her arms around Penelo and leads her to the shady periphery of the street, where children play and thieves skulk.

His eyes take some time to adjust to the gloom; for now, he is looking at the shadowy outlines and gleaming eyes of his companions.

"What is the matter?" Fran's voice is soft, like always, but more gentle than Balthier has heard it in quite some time.

Penelo takes a moment to collect herself, accepting (another) handkerchief from Balthier.

He peers into the darkness, and her face swims into view. Really, even with the dimness of present surroundings, she looks terrible. Her hair has untwined itself from her twin braids and hangs limply about her neck. Her eyes are puffy, like she hasn't seen a bed in days.

Though, of course, Balthier has had much experience with damsels, and knows better than to voice any of these observations.

She clears her throat, and it sounds like she hasn't spoken in days, either. "Vaan... he's so - so _stupid_."

Well, yes, that's probably one thing they can all agree on, Balthier decides. "And just what has he done this time? Idiot hasn't left you already, has he?" What does she want him to do, play relationship counselor? Well, that's one thing he hasn't done yet, but no thank you.

Instead, she shakes her head and takes in a gulp of air. "I haven't seen him in... a week."

Fran is all business. "Do you know where he has gone?"

Another shake of her head, loose braids flying akimbo. "I-I've been talking _everyone_. No one knows..." She looks like she might well start crying again, so Balthier puts what's supposed to be a comforting hand on her shoulder. Instead, it feels like he's using her as an anchor to hold himself in place.

It doesn't work. "You can't possibly want us to go on a neighborhood search." _Like he's a lost _puppy_..._

Penelo is apparently used to him by now, because she just looks up at him. While the rest of her is none too polished right now, her eyes are catching the light just right, and Balthier with _never_ understand his own weakness for damsels in distress. "P-please?"

He and Fran exchange another look, one they've shared so many times. Fran is telling him not to do anything idiotic (as if that's advice he really needs), and he is nonverbally swearing that he knows what he's doing.

"...And just where do you propose we start?"

* * *

><p>As it turns out, Penelo hasn't a clue, and she's not the only one.<p>

Trust Vaan to go running off with nary a word to his little friends.

She starts by sniffling into Balthier's handkerchief, and then launches into a list of all the people she's interrogated for Vaan's whereabouts.

Balthier's impressed. Shaded by the dark alcove, she looks a little less heartbroken, and he knows he's not just imaging that her voice gets firmer by the second. This is the Penelo he knows.

"Migelo hasn't seen him for the last two weeks. But that's not odd, Vaan _always_ disappears when it's time to clean out the stock rooms. I know Kytes hasn't seen him, since he came to me yesterday and said he was worried. I know a soldier down by South Gate, he's an old friend of Reks, and he says Vaan hasn't been there in a month or more..."

And on and on it goes. By the time she's done, Fran is flicking her ears back and forth in a rarely expressed tic, and Balthier is straightening his cuffs, all while entertaining the notion that Penelo knows the name and address of positively _every_ citizen of Rabanastre.

When she finally stops to draw breath, Balthier is glad he hasn't stopped her list. She looks stronger for having shared it, like she's re-affirmed to herself that she is doing _something_ to help her wayward love.

"So... Is there any place in the entire country that you _haven't_ checked?"

Her answer is immediate, and he is reminded of a tactician commanding troops. "Yes. Lowtown. I was on my way there when I... when we met."

Fran rises elegantly from her seat on a stone outcropping. "If we split up, we will cover the place in a matter of hours."

"Is there somewhere we can agree on meeting?"

Penelo nods. "Migelo's store. I bet you both remember where it is."

"Right. I'll take the North Sprawl. You two split up in the south."

Balthier makes to saunter off in the direction of the Lowtown entrance, just to show how _casually_ he can handle drama like this, but Penelo's hand on his shoulder stops him.

"We _will_ find him... right?"

Fran nods, and clearly expects Balthier to do the same. At least, that's what he assumes is her rationale behind prodding him in the spine with the tip of her bow. _Oh, alright._

He gives Penelo's hand a gentle squeeze before slipping away. "Of course," he says, voice gruffer than he intended. "Idiot's probably off picking flowers or something." (He will, of course, remember Vaan's recollections of Galbana lilies to his dying day.)

As he finally gets to the 'coolly setting off for Lowtown' business, Balthier is grateful for one thing at least: his destination is far from this blasted heat.

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><p>AN: Spellcheck firmly believes that Balthier = Blather. I find this terribly amusing.

Anyways, hope you enjoyed reading, and will consider sticking around for further chapters. (Reviews make me a happy author. This is a not-so-subtle hint.)


	2. A Reveal

After two hours of exhaustive searches and interviews, Balthier finally makes his way back to Migelo's store. By this point, he is fairly certain that Vaan isn't off admiring lilies or whatever else he does when not bothering the good citizens of Rabanastre.

Therefore, he walks with a certain uncharacteristic slump to his shoulders as he pushes his way through the city's crowds: if he hasn't encountered word of Vaan by this point, he's quite certain that no one else has.

Migelo's Sundries is tucked away in a corner of the city, hiding beneath a wide, tiled arcade. Balthier is more than glad for the shade it provides, because he's fairly certain that he's begun to melt. The heat is relentless in Dalmasca, and he no longer has Fran to complain to.

It's little wonder, he realizes, that most Dalmascans tend to walk around in varying states of undress. It had disconcerted him on his first trip to the city, still fresh from stuffy Arcades, but he'd eventually just learned to enjoy the view.

When he reaches the shop's main entrance, the bangaa owner himself is waiting just beside the sign that announces the shop's name, basking in the sunlight's oppressive heat. When Balthier approaches, Migelo gives him a wary nod.

"I don't suppose you could have found him?"

Poor man, he still found some call for hope.

"I'm afraid not. But never fear, I-" he cuts the false reassurance short. "How has Penelo been taking it?"

Migelo shrugs. "How would you like to lose someone that close to you? The boy's like a brother to her... and a son to me."

The heavy emotions are getting nearly choking, so Balthier waves them off with a dismissive gesture. "Probably off chasing cockatrices," he mutters, before pushing past into the shop.

It's darker and more pleasant inside, and Balthier feels his mood lift.

In a time before Balthier even knew Vaan or Penelo, he'd known Migelo's Sundries. It is his favorite shop in Rabanastre, not that he's going to admit it now. It's something about the _whimsy_ of it, he thinks, with its spindly tables overflowing with goods. Potion bottles roll on the floor to trip the unwary, and little tufts of Phoenix Down are forever blowing out of their bin on light currents of wind. The air smells like candle wax and armor polish.

He's never thought of _himself_ as whimsical, naturally, but it's another trait he can appreciate elsewhere.

Right now, the shop is nearly full, but none of the patrons are the people for whom he searches.

Balthier pokes around for a few minutes before he spies the curtain in the corner. It leads to the back rooms, he supposes, and that's probably where he'll find Penelo and Fran.

The shopkeeper - a young girl with curly hair, probably another war orphan - gives him a suspicious glance, but doesn't stop him from sidestepping said curtain.

Beyond the curtain, the light is scarcer and the smell of candle wax stronger. He appears to be in a hallway of some sort, and with the thick fabric behind him muffling the sound of shoppers, he can pick out murmured conversation somewhere ahead.

A few paces forward, and Balthier finds himself in the threshold of a doorway. Once he pushes the door aside, he finds precisely what he's looking for.

The room is dark and cool, and the stone walls are stained with smoke. A few candles, covered by frosted glass, provide muted light in the tiny space.

Penelo is there, pacing back and forth, and wringing her hands. Fran is there as well, standing with her back against the opposite wall, as casual as ever.

And there is a third figure seated at the low table, one with sandy blonde hair and a worried frown.

"Er... Hello," Balthier tries.

Penelo is the first to react; she _smiles_ at him, so brightly that he almost worries that the strain has snapped the poor girl's sanity. "We found someone." He doesn't have to ask who this someone is, or why he is important.

The blonde man has angled himself to look at Balthier; he looks familiar, but he cannot place him. Penelo flashes a wider-still grin at the stranger, so Balthier concludes that he is the reason for her good cheer. "Do tell," he says eventually.

The stranger, however, rises and extends his hand. "I believe we've met, but I'm Samal," he says when Balthier shakes it. "Of course, I know who you are."

People tend to tell him that a lot. Inside Archades, he's the prodigal Bunansa, and therefore mobbed by idiots all the time. In the rest of Ivalice, he's the infamous Balthier, and therefore mobbed by idiots all the more. He's never quite sure what to do when an introduction is unnecessary, however, so he just settles for an, "oh, good."

"I'm sorry about Vaan," he continues. "The boy is a pirate, though. He longs for freedom; nothing was going to hold him back."

Balthier longs to tell him that perhaps a dose of _common sense_ might have helped a bit, but Samal hasn't dropped his gaze, and he looks so _knowing_ that Balthier just shuts up. For once.

"Why?" Penelo stops her pacing right beside Balthier, looking Samal right in the eyes. "He can have his freedom _here_. With _us_."

"Some things aren't that simple." Balthier knows that when in doubt, he can count on Fran to sober up the mood of any conversation. He likes it that way; all this happy-sentimental stuff gets a little maudlin.

The ensuing silence is very awkward; it's only cut by the click of Penelo's shoes as she resumes wearing a hole in the floor.

Samal shakes his head before continuing. "Anyways, I know Vaan. If it's about piracy, he can't stop talking about it. Honestly, I can't believe he didn't mention it to anyone else… Do any of you know what Marquis Ondore has been up to recently?"

Balthier very nearly tells him to please stay on the task at hand, since he's had enough political machinations for one lifetime, thanks. However, he can't just leave a question like this unanswered, especially when he's the one who actually knows things like this.

Can't leave people thinking their leading man is incompetent, after all.

"With the war over, I've no doubt the Marquis is busy dismantling his army, probably abiding by whatever treaties he's made with Dalmasca and the Empire.

"Well, abiding, yes. Dismantling, no." Samal traces the table's wood grain with a finger. "He's simply found another use for it. Some of it, anyways."

Balthier has to restrain himself to keep from smacking his palm against his forehead. "Don't tell me he has certain _expansionist_ ideas of his own."

Samal's eyes widen at the very thought. "Thank the Light, no. He's using them to combat the local problem of piracy. You know how it is around Bhujerba; the airships are always in danger of pirate attacks."

Penelo stops mid-stride and turns on her heel to face him. "What does this mean for Vaan?"

"The Marquis is fighting an uphill battle; the area is full of islands where the pirates can hide. So, he's enlisted more men. It's the perfect opportunity for a pirate with more interest in preserving justice than moving cargo."

"You mean, Vaan's gone out to fight sky pirates in Bhujerba?" She looks incredulous, one hand sliding up her thigh to rest on her hip. "That... jerk."

Now that the worst of the news is out of the way, Samal allows himself a thin smile. "I told you that you wouldn't be able to keep him long. He was positively _giddy_ when he told me his plans.

Balthier doesn't wonder why he can picture that so clearly; he's had far too much experience with a giddy Vaan. "How dangerous would you say the islands are?" He pulls out a chair and sinks into it with distinctly less grace than is customary.

"Considerably. Vaan is brave, but he's no pirate." Samal's smile melts into a frown. "Obviously, there _are_ casualties with an operation of this scale. The Marquis is trying to limit rumors of them, but if the stories are reaching, _me_, well... I would say that you have a rescue mission on your hands."

"What?" Penelo looks, if possible, more incredulous. Balthier has an urge to tell her to close her mouth before she starts catching flies.

"Not a problem. All we have to do is drag the idiot back to Rabanastre before he gets himself killed," he says instead. "And I'm taking his ship away from him when this is done. It's hardly a toy for children," he adds as an afterthought.


	3. A Note for the Queen

Balthier is the one who comes up with the plan, since he fancies himself the brains of the operation.

Naturally, he doesn't voice that thought aloud, as he is seated beside two women who he _knows_ would not hesitate to make him suffer, should they hear it.

Now, they're seated around the same low table in the back room of Migelo's shop. Samal has gone back to the darkness of Lowtown, and they are planning a rescue mission. It is dismally _normal_.

"Right," he is saying. "I'd like to believe this will be simple, but it _is_ Vaan we are talking about. If he can complicate matters, he will."

"Not to mention he'll probably whine like a baby when we drag him back here," Penelo jokes, eyes bright again. "We'd all better agree not to listen to a word he says." It doesn't seem to have occurred to her that Vaan is likely in danger. Or, perhaps it has, and she is made of stronger stuff than he suspected.

"That would be a wise policy whenever Vaan speaks," Fran says with a quirked eyebrow. Balthier suddenly wants to tell her how much he loves her just then.

"And yet ignoring him won't be the biggest problem," Balthier reminds them.

"Why not?"

He turns to face Penelo. "It's a big continent. It's a huge network of continents. Unless you've been hiding your skills as a bounty hunter all these years, we're not going to find him alone."

Silence meets this proclamation. Balthier hates to be the bearer of bad news.

"So, we need to find out precisely what he is doing, and where."

"Marquis Ondore."

He nods at Fran. "Or at least someone in his command, someone else caught up in this pirate-exterminating nonsense."

Penelo jumps out of her chair, sprung to her feet like she's been hit by a float spell. "Well, that's easy."

Two pairs of eyes light on her, quietly asking if she's gone mad. She returns them with a steely glare. "We're friends with the Queen, aren't we? The Marquis is her uncle, she can get us in to talk to him."

Balthier can tell the situation is getting away from him fast. This was _not_ what he had in mind when he'd agreed to help Penelo scant hours ago. "And just how do you propose we do _that_?"

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><p>Somehow, this finds Balthier seated at the table fifteen minutes later, candle on one side and inkwell on the other.<p>

Penelo says that this is because he is the one who really 'gets' the social graces of the higher-ups, but he thinks it's really because she knows damned well that no one can read her cockatrice-scratch handwriting.

As it is, he finishes the last pen stroke with a flourish and lifts the sheaf of paper off the table to survey it properly:

_H. R. M. Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca:_

_I do regretfully acknowledge that it has been some time since our last meeting, Highness. While I hope that you did not vex yourself too heavily over my safety, I also dare hope that you might have even _missed_ me. Though I realize you may still harbor some rather harsh feelings toward me since my unexplained disappearance after the regretful Bahamut incident, one hopes that we can put that aside for a moment in order to aid the greater good._

_It has been quite some time since our last communication, but I am assured that you retain much affection for your allies of somewhat less lofty social circumstances. (We can't all be Queen, you know.) As a result, I assume you also retain some tolerance for the antics of the headstrong pseudo-pirate Vaan. I know that you will be only too happy to aid us in the recovery of our favorite idiot, even if it means asking a rather large favor of you._

_I know that you are as wise and just as you are beautiful, and do eagerly await your response._

_Yours, as always,_

_Balthier._

When Balthier stands, he sends a small cascade of rejected first-draft letters tumbling from his lap to the floor. Penelo meets him before he can even exit the room, grinning and holding out her hand.

When he gives her the letter, she scans it quickly, expression starting at 'amused' and spiraling down into 'displeased.'

"Balthier, this doesn't even say what we want from her."

He can't keep himself from looking affronted. He thinks it's a fine letter. "These things take _time_, Penelo."

Her eyebrows knit together, the picture of uncertainty, but hands it off to one of the orphan boys who always hangs around the shop. The boy takes off at a run, though just how he thinks he's going to get the letter into the hand of the Queen, Balthier doesn't know.

Balthier makes his way out into the shop proper, where Fran is surveying the shopping bonanza with mild interest. "We wait?"

"I need a drink," is all he will say.

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><p>Balthier had been expecting to reach the Sandsea within five minutes of walking through Westgate. Instead, it has taken him three hours, but at least he's gotten there.<p>

He and Fran have found their favorite balcony empty as usual, and are now sitting at it. Balthier, for all his insistence on needing alcohol, has been denied it by his very stern copilot, who reminds him that they may leave for Bhujerba at any time.

Balthier personally thinks that she needn't bring up his rather low tolerance for mind-altering substances. Since she's not letting him have any in the first place, it's just cruel and unnecessary.

"Fran, please," he starts to protest. However, he is cut short by the glint of steel he sees out of the corner of his eye.

It's a Dalmascan soldier, standing on the stairs and shuffling his feet against the flagstones.

Now, Balthier has spent a very long time trying to figure out just what those preposterous uniforms are intended to protect. The soldier – Vaan's age, perhaps; much younger than him - is wearing what look like a set of steel sleeves, a collar, leggings, and an oversized metal plate across his lower regions. That's it. Nothing over the chest, and a barely-adequate helmet.

The only conclusion he has reached is that the soldiers - much like the rest of the Dalmascan population - have some kind of allergy to clothing, and aim to wear as little of it as possible.

The soldier clears his throat, and his boots click on the floor.

"Yes?"

"Are you Balthier?" He sounds young, too. Nervous, even.

Balthier nods, and accepts a folded sheet of paper from the young man. Before he turns his attention to it, however, he watches the solder flee. Yes, lots of leather over his admittedly shapely backside, and entirely not enough armor.

He doesn't even pretend that he looks out of purely intellectual curiosity.

"Are you too distracted to notice? You've a letter from the Queen."

When he looks down at the paper he's laid on the table, sure enough, the Dalmascan royal seal is recreated in wax on the outside. "Yes, thank you, Fran," he says with sickly sweetness.

He prizes it open carefully, noting that the seal is far messier than befits a member of the royal family. Looking at how the sealing wax is smeared across the paper, he might have guessed it was put there with undue _violence_.

With that rather foreboding thought echoing in his mind, Balthier slips a note out of the envelope and reads:

_Quasi-Legal Expatriate w/Delusions of Grandeur:_

_Contrary to what your ego may inform you, a Queen has many things to do with her day, none of which involve _pining _after the fate of pirates. However, a Queen may occasionally find herself in a position where it is befitting for her to put aside personal antipathies in order to better facilitate the peace and prosperity of her people. One may hope that your sense of duty would find you likewise inclined to keep your thoughts trained on the present and refrain from unnecessary communication with our royal person._

_As for the matter of which you write, while I am quite concerned for the safety of all of my citizens (individual deficits in intelligence notwithstanding), I can do little to help if you will not deign to name this favor that you beg. I have faith that you would not trouble me, were these matters not urgent. _

_In service,_

_Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca_

Balthier rests his head in his hands a moment, before sliding the sheet across the table to Fran. While she reads, he rubs his temples and asks what he'd ever done to deserve someone like Ashe in his life.

He also can't figure out why Fran is smirking when he looks up at her.

"Do you have a pen?" he asks. It's going to be a very long day.

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><p>AN: I felt like chapter two was a bit conversation and plot heavy, so I decided to just make it a double update.

(Please read, review, and enjoy!)


	4. A Second Note

The next letter is finished, the ink drying in the hot breezes of the Sandsea. It's a masterpiece of words, if Balthier does say so himself.

The way Fran wrinkles her nose when she reads it suggests that she disagrees. And while Fran is rarely wrong, and Balthier usually trusts her, he doesn't think she knows as much about beautiful, poetic letters as she seems to think she does. After all, most viera barely talk, he thinks.

This one reads:

_H. R. H. Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca _(because one must always be polite, even if one doesn't mean it.)

_While I am quite aware that you are far too strong to _pine_ for anyone (though, should you choose to start, I would be by no means a bad choice), I also think there is little need for these pointless formalities. There's no shame in missing me. _

_With regards to that, I would hope that it is ardor, rather than _antipathies_, which you must put aside. Still. On to more pertinent matters._

_As I mentioned in a previous letter, we seem to have misplaced Vaan. While this is hardly an unusual situation (I have previously suggested that Penelo fix the boy up with some kind of bell, but to no avail), it has been ongoing for an alarming amount of time. Fortunately, we have reason to believe he's gone no further than Bhujerba, and would like to mount a rescue mission, not so much for his sake, but rather for the innocent Bhujerbans._

_However, you know Vaan quite as well as I do; if there is a situation better off without him, one can be quite certain he will find his way into the thick of it. Right now, he is fighting pirates for your, shall we say, _ambitious_ uncle. In short, he is likely somewhere in the Purvama region, but we haven't the faintest idea where to begin._

_It is in this endeavor that I entreat your aid. While the Bhujerban populace is no concern of yours, I would hope you would have enough affection for Marquis Ondore to aid us in speaking with him. If you were able to acchieve that, you would facilitate our rescue mission enormously, and I am certain the harassed Bhujerbans would forever thank you. As would I, my dear Princess. All we need is a single meeting with him; the favor can't be as bad as you thought, can it?_

_Yours, as always,_

_Balthier_

Getting the letter to Ashe, he knows, will not be as simple as he might like. When he points this out to Fran, however, she is less than supportive.

"Why don't you just speak with her directly?" Her elegant fingertips glide across the patterns in the stone table; it looks too much like she's ignoring Balthier for his taste.

"Fran, really. She's clearly _angry_ with me."

Well, at least that gets a reaction. She looks up at him, one eyebrow elevated.

"What? Last time she was in a mood like this, she threw a broadsword at me!" He throws his hands up in the air. "And it's not like she's a bad aim. I'm in no mood to lose a limb, _thank _you."

Fran remains silent, that devilish eyebrow still raised in cruel amusement at his plight. Damn it all, she's too much like him.

Balthier stifles the urge to kiss her as he scoops the letter off the table. He folds it as he descends the stairs and exits the building. Outside, a wave of heat hits him, but he soldiers on in spite of it. Evening is still hours off, and it is now the hottest part of the day.

As a consequence, the streets have cleared, most loiterers having made their way into shops (mostly the magick store; the proprietor knew a decent Blizzard spell) to escape being broiled alive. Balthier is grateful for this, because it means that most pickpockets are either out of sight or too fried to be of much consequence to him.

He's not really sure where he's going with this terrible idea, but he's never really been in correspondence with the Queen, before.

He takes a left into the Muthru bazaar and a right from there, landing himself in street that would otherwise be quite crowded. It's wide and built of painted tiles, fountains lining one side, and porticoes of various buildings lining the other. It's also almost eerily still, with no breezes and the noonday sun casting nary a shadow.

Up ahead, his destination looms: the great, preposterously ornate gates to the royal palace.

There are two guards outside, probably suffering immensely in their heavy steel armor. It's doubly a punishment because Balthier recognizes them as the Queen's elite guard, as they wear heavy woolen capes with her insignia. Plus, that means they must spend time in close proximity to Ashe (he likes her just fine, but a lesser man might find her trying, to say the least).

Balthier pities them greatly, but that doesn't mean he excuses them when both level a simultaneous, suspicious glare at him.

"I don't suppose either of you knows how to send a letter to the Queen?" he tries.

One of them raises his eyebrows so high that they're swallowed up by the brim of his helmet. The second just gapes at him, as though shocked anyone could be so uncouth.

Balthier is about to mount a well-organized and logical persuasion campaign (i.e., toss veiled insults at the pair of them until he gets what he wants), but the man's gaze suddenly shifts, so he is now focusing that shocked expression on someone else.

It's reflex; he can't help but turn around to see what caught the idiot's attention. And yet he nearly wishes that he didn't.

He is facing the scaly beak of a chocobo, one whose claws are currently making pebbles out of the centuries-old tiles of the promenade. Honestly, chocobos are not birds gifted in stealth, and he's a little embarrassed to be caught unawares by one. He hastily wipes the surprised look off his face.

He likes even less who is riding the bird. The crest on the armor is one he recognizes immediately: House Solidor has been all-too-familiar of late. The face to go with the gleaming armor is shrewd, narrow, and possesses a curling beard. He doesn't recognize the man, but at least he knows his faction and fashion.

This only takes Balthier a moment to process. The next, he is moving out of the chocobo's way (it _does_ smell rather foul), but not taking his eyes off the man astride.

The Solidor lackey climbs off the bird and hits the ground with a _thunk_. The helmet stays on, Balthier notes, which is a little disrespectful for a soldier in a kingdom that isn't his. Good to know that some things have remained the same.

"On behalf of Emperor Larsa Ferrinas Solidor, Command Sergeant Major Tarik to speak with her royal highness." He stands stiff and straight, and doesn't look at a single one of the three men before him.

"Very well." The taller of the two guards shoves the door open, and allows it to swing shut once the Command Sergeant Major is inside.

Balthier feels it might be helpful to rail on about the unfairness that a foreign soldier has greater access to the Queen than do her own people, but he's not from Dalmasca anyways, so it would ring rather hollow. He settles for leaning on the carven arch and just watching.

"What's your business again?" says one of the guards.

Balthier waves his letter by way of explanation.

"Oh. Well. What's it regarding?"

"It's regarding sky pirates and kidnapped young boys. He'll probably be dead by the time the Queen gets this very important missive, thanks to a pair of loafing guards." He sighs dramatically, and waits.

The result is less than spectacular. One of the guards ever titters behind his inadequate gauntlet. _Titters_.

"As demonstrated," the guard says (once recovered), "Her Highness is quite busy."

"So I saw. Foreign soldiers in the capital; I'd hate to see what the people would think if they saw one of _them_ in the streets."

The taller of the two narrows his eyes. "The Queen knows how to run her country, churl."

Balthier backpedals quickly. "Of course. Some people don't understand the burdens of a ruler. You sure you won't let me in if I stand here long enough?"

He's beginning to lose hope. One of Penelo's urchin friends got in here earlier; maybe he should just go back to the shop and ask one of them to do it.

"Quite sure."

"Too bad. That poor boy lost in the Purvama will just have to wait." He shakes his head and steps out of the meager shade.

One of the guards fidgets, and the pair exchange significant glances. "Hold up."

Balthier stops dead. "Yes?"

"Did you say Purvama?" One's spear butt bounces on the ground in excitement.

"If that'll convince you, then of course."

The guard chews his lip for a moment. Balthier just watches, waiting. "Dangerous place for a boy. I'll see to it that the Queen gets your letter." He steps forward and extends a metal-encased hand for the letter.

Balthier hands it over, thanks the man, and starts back down the promenade. Behind him, he hears the palace door rumbling shut again.

He's glad he's gotten the result he wanted, but more than a little puzzled as to _why_.

* * *

><p>AN: Apologies for the long wait. .


	5. An Awaited Departure

Balthier finds Fran concealed in a tiny alcove of the Muthru Bazaar. If she were not such a familiar figure, he might have missed her entirely, the way her dark skin and garb blends into the shadows.

He sits on the ledge beside her, and deliberately keeps his eyes of the heaping market stalls. They're piled with vibrant fabrics, strange spices, and even more bizarre things: strips of Festering Flesh, their namesake property granting them a shady space by themselves, blood-darkened bones slowly bleaching in the sun, and even a few corpse flies buzzing in a mesh cage.

They'd sold these things almost two years ago, and Balthier is unsurprised that no one has purchased them. Perhaps, he muses, the Festering Flesh ages like fine wine: it seems to fester with greater gusto today.

Finally, he turns his attention to Fran. Well, he doesn't look at her, but he addresses her. "I was less than gentlemanly earlier, Fran. I... apologize." He still wants to kiss her, but he leaves that bit out.

"Accepted," she says. "Did Ashe get her letter?"

"That, and a far less pleasant visitor than me."

"Oh?" He's still looking into the market, but he feels acutely when her fingertips brush his. He closes his hand, holding hers loosely.

Quickly, Balthier tells her about the Archadean soldier. He's not sure how, but he ends up orienting himself towards her, the hand that is not holding Fran's resting on her knee. She smiles.

When his story is over, she doesn't say a word. But then, she's Fran, and he doesn't expect her to.

"So," he says, "Archades is up to something. But then, when _aren't_ they? Still, I had hoped the little devil on the throne might keep a closer watch on some of his subjects."

He can feel the gentle pressure as she squeezes his hand. "But we are both accustomed to it. Come, we should find Penelo again."

* * *

><p>Penelo, as Balthier might have expected, is back behind the counter at Migelo's Sundries. After all, she is not the type of girl to let this sort of drama get in the way of what must be done.<p>

She looks good, Balthier notes as he walks in the door. Her eyes are no longer clouded with either tears or feverish excitement, and her braids have been retied and tamed once more. Most of all, she smiles when she sees them, and it's a smile that lacks the tension that stretched it mere hours ago.

Her Seeq customer is counting gil out of a velvet pouch while Penelo wraps up a few potions and some eye drops in paper. Her hands move with a deftness that comes of familiarity, cutting the paper, bundling it around the purchases, and tying it just so that it will be secure, but that the sundries inside are easily accessible in a crisis.

Really, Balthier thinks as he watches her exchange a few final pleasantries with the Seeq, he's not sure why she came along with them two years ago. She's not duty-bound like Ashe or Basch; she's not impressionable as Vaan. And she's certainly not as pursued as himself and Fran. In fact, she looks at home _here_, casually counting out change from the drawer below the desk, soft smile lighting up her features.

Then, he remembers her paradoxically wicked casting of Holy, and decides he needs wonder no longer.

The Seeq shuffles off, and Penelo turns her attention to the pair of them. "Look what just came," she says, and reaches behind the counter. She pulls out a letter, one held in a creamy parchment envelope. A red seal holds it closed, and Balthier is relieved to note that this seal is rather better executed than the last: it appears that the Queen has spared it her anger this time. Perhaps he would get the same reprieve.

He takes the letter from her. "Well, that was faster than I'd dared to hope. Is it too much to ask that she left us a battalion, too?"

Penelo assures him that the shop is too tiny to hold so many soldiers anyways, and he unsheathes a belt knife and runs it along the top of the envelope. The letter slides into his hand, the paper more densely packed with lettering than before.

He reads it once, shakes his head to clear it, ignores Penelo's plaintive questions and Fran's raised eyebrow, and reads it once more:

_Self-Indulgent Pirate & his Overinflated Ego:_

_Please, understand._ Four _Rozarrian diplomats have already required my attention this morning alone, and double that many from Archades. Bhujerba, as one of Dalmasca's closest allies, must necessarily occupy less of my time. _

_For_ ten _years, Bhujerba and Dalmasca have been quietly making deals. Do not presume to think that we are unaware of this issue. Do not presume to lecture me on the state of my people. _

_To that end, do not trouble yourself over Vaan's fate. My_ six _closest councilors and I have deliberated, and deem that he is capable of caring for himself. I sincerely doubt that he would appreciate your mothering. _

_Stay out of trouble, just this_ one _time. _

_In Rabanastre, I have been a wise ruler by all approximations but yours for_ two _entire years. You are an outlaw pirate. For once in your life, Balthier, just trust my judgment. _

_Do this for me._

The letter was not signed, and only bore Ashe's royal seal at the foot of it. It was awfully rude, even for Ashe.

When Balthier looks up, Penelo is biting her lip, and Fran is looking on with cool dispassion. He addresses his copilot first. "Fran, we ought to leave as quickly as possible. Is the Strahl ready?"

She nods, and holds out a hand for the letter. He hands it over, and decides he ought to break the news to Penelo himself.

"Well?" The blonde asks, hand on one hip. She clearly isn't expecting good news.

"We press on alone. Our Queen is throwing a bit of a fit, and we're probably better off without her. Meet me at the Aerodrome in an hour. Now, is there a pen in this damned shop?"

Penelo rolls her eyes at the characterization of the store, but ducks behind the counter and retrieves the writing utensils anyways. And Balthier leans over the counter and scrawls out a final note:

_Ashe,_

_I'm disappointed. I thought you were a little more fun. Still, I'll tell Vaan to take a turn around the palace when we return. You know, so you can apologize. _

_Balthier._

He does consider not sending the letter. Really, he does. It's rude and inflammatory and all the things that a leading man is _not_. But when he walks out of the shop and into the deepening shadows of the streets, he can't help himself. The note is handed off to one of Penelo's street urchin friends, a few gil sending the child on his way.

The Aerodrome is far from here, but the sun is sinking, and the heat has begun to seep out of the city. Looking up, Balthier checks the skies, the habit of a pirate. It's clear, and he sees the stars appearing on the eastern horizon. It'll be a fine night for flying.

He starts walking, teetering between frustrated and glad. But when he looks up to that deep, open sky, he feels his spirits lift, sure as always. He doesn't always like the things that come his way, but damn it, he does love being a pirate.

* * *

><p>The Aerodrome is as quiet as it ever is.<p>

That's not saying much. The engines within grunt and growl beneath their loads, and the squeals and clunks of those in for repairs sound to Balthier's ears like so many sick men groaning for relief.

And the Strahl, of course, purrs like a coeurl. But then, she's far superior to these lesser products. The ship waits for him in one of the hangar bays, a huge room lit softly by a few chunks of Magicite embedded in the walls.

He already expected Fran to be there, and she is. She sits with one leg elegantly crossed over the other, head bowed over the Strahl's auxiliary navigator.

She doesn't look up as he approaches, but scoots to the side of the ship's gangplank, so he can join her. He does, and gets to business. Namely, calmly voicing his concerns, which in no way resemble whining.

"This is becoming difficult."

"Perhaps you ought to have let Penelo write the letters." The slight twitching of her ears lets Balthier in on the fact that she is kidding, though maybe she's right. But that's why he likes Fran: she sits here, calmly organizing their path to Bhujerba, and she's not about to let anything ridiculous as this get in her way. Balthier is tempestuous, though calm on the surface. Fran is just tranquility defined.

Balthier waves his hands around like he's swatting so many gnats, when he's really just trying to stop himself from being so damned sentimental. Fran doesn't look up from her task, which really just proves his point.

If he's going to be maudlin, he may as well be right about it.

"When can we leave?"

"As soon as Penelo arrives." Fran rises and makes her way up the gangplank, obviously with the intention of reinstalling their navigator. Balthier, meanwhile, leans back to enjoy the view, since nothing calms his nerves quite like a pair of shapely legs.

* * *

><p>AN: Gone forever, and then I post a short chapter. What's the matter with me? Anyways, I just wanted to mention that I'm not trying to mis-characterize Ashe in this chapter. She's got her reasons, and this won't be the last we see of her.

Also, a huge thanks to everyone who's reading. Means a lot to me. :)


	6. A Heavenly Morning

"That's it," Penelo whispers, sounding awfully grim for a woman who is getting just the rescue mission she'd asked for.

Bhujerba floats on the night sky like a dream. Stars sparkle above and below, even visible through the gaps between the skygrounds. From this angle, the moon stands nearly on the same level as the city, impossibly large. The city itself slumbers peacefully in the cradle between moon and sky.

It is, of course, breathtaking. Balthier has known it to make some of the women he'd taken to see the sight swoon, and not a few of the men, as well.

But there's no sense in expecting Penelo to react like a _normal_ woman.

Balthier brushes past her, reminds her that she might care to strap herself in, and seats himself beside Fran. She occupies the copilots chair, and often seems more comfortable there than anywhere else on the ship. Whatever she says, she does have a pirate's heart.

He takes the controls of the Strahl, and begins steering her in the direction of the Aerodrome, leaving the engine output and speed to Fran's good offices. The Strahl's controls glide smoothly, but not so easily that he cannot feel the muscle of the engines beneath. As always, he suppresses a smile of pride.

"So," Penelo says over his shoulder. "When are we going to start shaking down the town?" She sounds almost _too_ eager as she says it.

Fran twists a few dials, easing back on the Strahl's power, letting Balthier steer with a little more precision. "Penelo, it's the middle of the night."

"Exactly. Isn't this just the time when criminals are out?"

Balthier thinks he might just have to look into her sources. Probably Vaan, and definitely false. "I always preferred nine to five, myself. More victims about." He tapped the side of his head. "Regardless, if some common thugs had appropriated your Vaan, they'd have released him out of sheer annoyance by now."

Fran laughs softly. Bhujerba's skydocks are drawing nearer, and he eases the Strahl in the direction of an unoccupied hangar bay.

"No, we'd best start our search in the morning. We'll sleep on the ship. And I expect to get started bright and early tomorrow, so best get some rest; the sooner we find Vaan, the sooner we can leave."

Balthier is a skilled pilot (if he does say so himself), and the ship lands neatly in the center of the bay. The sound of the landing stabilizers descending underscore his words, and brook no argument.

* * *

><p>Balthier awakens the next morning to Fran's fingers trailing down his neck and over his shoulders. It's a very pleasant sensation, if a little ticklish, and he grunts as much into the pillow. Her touch is warm, sensuous... Gods, he loves that he didn't take Jules' advice about her.<p>

Being woken by Fran is a fairly regular occurrence; Balthier insists on his beauty rest, but since he and Fran share rooms, he does not often get as much as he would like. (The Strahl, while near-perfect, is not so blessed in living space that all aboard can have private quarters. Balthier may or may not have been pleased when discovering this particular 'flaw' in the design.) Still, this particular variant on the scenario is unfortunately rare.

She says his name softly, her fingernails now just making the lightest contact with the sensitive skin along his jawline.

"We're about to be late," she says.

Balthier wanted to tell her that something about that statement isn't all that steamy, but he gets as far as, "Fraagrhn..." It's embarrassing. Best damned pirate in Ivalice, and he can't even manage a coherent sentence.

Her fingers trail down his cheek, cool and delicate. "Penelo will be most disappointed."

Balthier would like to tell her that Penelo can very well wait an hour, and that while this bed is small, it can most certainly accommodate her as well as him. However, "No... Bed," is the extent of his conversational skills.

It would be a little easier if her touch wasn't interfering so strongly with his ability to think. All Fran's fault, of course. She knows his ways.

Now her fingers move over the curve of his lower lip, and he can feel her callouses against him. Bliss.

And then she moves once more, and...

The bloody pillow is yanked out from beneath his head.

"Fran!" Coherency returns with a rush.

He's certain now that he can hear her laugh, low and like the wind through leaves. Also damned annoying, when at his expense.

"Where is your early start this morning?"

"What's the time?" he asks with as much dignity as he can muster. It isn't much, because he dangles one hand over the edge of the bunk, feeling for the pilfered pillow. His fingers meet with Fran's thigh, leaving him to assume that she is kneeling at the bedside. He allows that this is far superior to a pillow, anyways.

"Nearly eight. Penelo is also a late riser."

Balthier finally cracks an eye open. His copilot is a vision right now, and not in the least because a few key parts of her clothing seem to have vanished. Her bracers and bolero are gone, leaving only skin and velvety fur from wrist to chest. Fran also appears to have forgotten a few articles of clothing a bit lower down, a fashion choice which Balthier most wholeheartedly approves.

He meets her eyes. They are alight with amusement and seduction, and the rarely-seen mischievous smile delights him.

"Our chance for an early start already blown, then? Shame." And with that, he takes her by the wrist and scoots over to make more room in bed for her.

* * *

><p>"Morning, Penelo," Balthier says as he emerges into the cockpit, over an hour later.<p>

"Hi, Balthier." Penelo is perched in the pilot's chair, occupied with a pastry she must have bought in the Aerodrome outside. "What was keeping you?"

Fran enters then, from their quarters in the back of the ship. She's fully clothed now, but there's something positively _lewd_ in the way that she delicately raises an eyebrow at Balthier. All this is hidden from Penelo, naturally.

"Nothing, just some beauty rest. We're not all as naturally radiant as you," Balthier quips, returning Fran's glance with exaggerated verve.

Penelo laughs. "Alright, alright, I forgive you. I got you guys some strawberry ones," she says as she brandishes her pastry. "Better eat up, or I'll leave without you two."

"Gracious lady," Balthier says, taking the offered sweets and handing one off to Fran.

* * *

><p>The Aerodrome is as busy as always, particularly at this time of day. All the benches in the passenger waiting area are full, the air smells of magicite and engine grease, and the complaints on delayed flights have already begun. All is right in the world.<p>

"I suppose we should start with the Marquis' residence," Balthier drawls, "though I doubt we'll find his staff accommodating. If only Lady Ashe could be counted upon."

He lets himself smile indulgently at Penelo's chipper reply of "Roger, captain," and watches as she runs out of the Aerodrome and into the city. He and Fran follow in a more dignified manner.

Outside, the day is already warm and bright, the sun leaching color from the stone walkways and leaving the it instead on the faces of the people treading them.

Bhujerba is, as always, more pleasant than Rabanastre. Maybe it's something in Balthier's pirate blood, but a city in the sky strikes a chord deep within him. Maybe it's because _everyone's _a pirate here - assuming they're not the Marquis, anyone in his employ, or a miner.

Penelo, too, seems to like it; she's run a bit ahead of him and Fran and is waiting for them to catch up while she peers through one of the grates in the city's streets. At the moment, she has a few finger poked through the lattices in one of them, heedless of altitude.

When he and his companion draw closer though, Penelo gets to her feet and falls into step just in front of them, looking for all the world as though she intends to lead this expedition herself, damn it all.

The city is crowded today, probably a natural consequence of the war's end. Bhujerba's streets are wide, but they become claustrophobic just as soon as they reach the main avenue. People loiter on street edges, push past their fellows, and sometimes just get knocked over. Of course, Parijanah stand by, ready to keep order, but they only add to the bustle.

The air smells of hot clay, baked goods, and sweat, a nauseating combination. And any attempt at preserving personal space is in vain, to Balthier's endless distaste. Worse, he finds himself craning his neck and dodging around idiot pedestrians in his way, just to keep Penelo in sight.

Until, that is, Penelo drops back beside them. She's a little pale, but she says quite calmly and clearly: "Balthier, we've got a little problem."

"And what is that?"

"Right there," she says, pointing to a shadowed little alcove off the street. Crouched within, looking quite suspicious (as per usual), is his least favorite Bangaa bounty hunter.

Ba'Gamnan. _Again_.

* * *

><p>AN: The next two chapters are already close to being done, and are less... fluffy. Anyways, read, enjoy, and please consider reviewing.


	7. A Hellish Afternoon

For a few solid moments, Balthier stops dead and just stares. Actually, he does it with a hand on his hip and a quirked eyebrow, universal body language for, _this is ridiculous_. He half-hopes that Ba'Gamnan will look over in time to see that, because he would rather like to express his disapproval.

He could, however, do without being hauled off as ransom to fill Ba'Gamnan's coffers, however. To that end, he does not resist when Fran grabs his arm and pulls him off to a nearby alley.

"Do not make such a scene," she says, voice all too amused for present circumstances. "He searches not for you."

Balthier would like to point out that he would be looking for _her_, too because she's his accomplice and all, but remains silent for once. She's got a point; if Ba'Gamnan were looking for them, well... they would likely _not_ have seen him first.

Still, he can feel his fists close and his finger twitch, and he would give anything right now for his gun and one clean shot. There's little he hates more than Ba'Gamnan.

"Then who is he looking for?" Penelo asks, bobbing about to keep the bounty hunter in sight.

"I don't know, but the poor bastard's really in for it now." Balthier forces the anger to drain off, to remain cool. "Whatever it is, I want to stay as far from it as possible."

He steers their little group back in the direction they need to go, with the Marquis' residence towering over the streets. Fran seems untroubled, but Penelo hesitates before following. And Balthier knows what she means. Ba'Gamnan is a certain omen of trouble. Even if his errand has nothing to do with Balthier, he won't rest easy with the Bangaa on the same _continent_ as him.

* * *

><p>Balthier has to hand it to Penelo - in the last two years, she must have learned a thing or two about people. For instance, when they'd first met her, she'd been something of a wallflower, though Balthier couldn't imagine <em>why<em>.

And just look at her now. As soon as they'd neared the gates before the Marquis' manse, she'd calmly asked Balthier and Fran to wait while she spoke to the guards on her own. And from what Balthier can see from his vantage point, Penelo's method of conversation starts with lots of gesturing and very stern looks, and ends with a lot of swaying hips and smiles. It is almost enough to bring a proud tear to his eye.

Of course, the plan also left him and Fran lounging in the shade on a nearby retaining wall, so that may well be why he is so pleased with the plan.

However, Penelo returns to them in a few moments, clothing intact and looking irritated. "They won't let us in."

"Really? I thought the bit at the end was quite charming. If I were a guard..."

Penelo shakes her head. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just trying to get Vaan back."

He nods sagely; he'd do the same. Well, not for Vaan, of course. Maybe _to_ Vaan, but now he's getting off topic.

"We are still left without an entrance," Fran reminds them.

"Right. Right. It'd be quite simple if... I'm certain we could..." Balthier trails off, choking on the words. It's a peculiar thing, not knowing what to say. Balthier isn't sure he's ever encountered it before, and he _knows_ he doesn't like it. He sputters a minute more, waiting for the plan to materialize, as it always does.

Penelo looks in askance at Fran who replies, "He knows not."

"That is _not_ it, Fran!"

She smirks, and doesn't have to say anything else to continue the argument.

Penelo says their names in the background, only both Pirates are ignoring her.

"And anyways, I came up with the idea to try the Marquis," he pouts, "it's your turn."

"And you? Our leading man?h She smirks.

"You guys..." Penelo tries feebly.

"Penelo, we're trying to have an adult conversation. Just a moment."

Penelo is shaking her head, folding her arms in a gesture of annoyance that he's sure she's copied from him, but he isn't really paying attention to that just now. That is, until the spell hits him full in the chest.

"_Penelo!_" he tries to scold, but all he manages is opening his mouth and glaring at her. "Penelo, what in the name of all that is holy do you think you are doing?" is the next logical thing to say, only he can't get that out, either.

_Silenced_. Great. He throws her the most dignified incarnation of a dirty look, and then digs through his pockets for some damned echo herbs.

"Don't bother," Penelo says brightly. "You gave them to me to carry. And don't you help him," she adds, looking at Fran. "Just let me finish what I'm going to say."

Fran nods, ears twitching in amusement. Balthier pulls his hands from his pockets to give his best approximation of _get on with it_ in hand signals.

"So, we've done this before," Penelo begins. "Gotten in to see the Marquis, remember?"

Balthier looks at her, exasperated. He _knows _this, only it doesn't seem to be helping them just now.

"The Marquis was really involved in the Resistance. And I know they're gone now, so don't give me that look. But he had a whole bunch of people working on it with him. Pirates, Queen Ashe, and all those city guide guys.h She looks around as if for assurance, but she's definitely not getting any from Balthier. "We can't talk to them all, but we can try what we know."

He quirks his head, hopefully to make her complete her speech and move on; he's not trying to express approval.

"The guides. Par... Parijanah, I think? We know where they all hang out off-duty. And that's how we got in last time."

"The Cloudborne," Fran says, and Balthier wonders why the hell Penelo couldn't have silenced her, too. It wouldn't have mattered much, but it would have made it less _unfair_.

"Exactly," Penelo says happily. "We could start there. I know it's not a guarantee, but it's a start."

Balthier shrugs and nods. It's not the brilliant, elegant plan he'd hoped for, but implying any less will probably leave him cursed all afternoon. Penelo claps her hands in delight and turns on her heel. She starts walking, a slight skip to her step. After all, it's not every day that a street urchin cuts the mighty Balthier down to size (thank the gods).

Fran turns to follow, and then Balthier turns to real panic, because he is _not_ going to walk about Bhujerba muted by Penelo of all people. He stamps his foot, and when that fails to garner him the attention he wants, well...

He does the only logical thing. Balthier draws Fomalhaut, aims in straight up in the air, and fires.

Most everyone in the vicinity freezes, fear written on their expressions. The Marquis' two gate guards exchange glances, wondering if they should arrest the silent lunatic with a deadly weapon. Penelo, however, turns and eyes him calmly (Fran doesn't turn, just puts her hands on her hips).

"Oh, sorry Balthier, I forgot!" The counterspell hits him, and frees him of Silence. He growls once, just to make sure everything's working again.

The gun is re-holstered, and Balthier starts in with a litany of curses and oaths that will not only take him the entire trip to the Cloudborne to complete, but will also make Penelo think twice before she _ever_ tries that on him again.

Or perhaps it will entice her to make the next spell _permanent_.


End file.
